


Right Place, Wrong Time

by ShannonPhillips



Series: Talleverse [4]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Drinking to Cope, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 02:25:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7080988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannonPhillips/pseuds/ShannonPhillips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Talle is handling things without her first mate and not quite falling apart. Spoilers for Knights of the Fallen Empire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Place, Wrong Time

“Commander?”  
  
Theron’s hovering in the entrance to her quarters. Not her _captain’s_ quarters: she doesn’t spend so much time on the Mudlark, these days. Can’t stand the empty, ringing passageways and the silence where her crew used to be. But she’s not drinking in the cantina, either. Troops don’t need to see their commander getting all maudlin.  
  
And Talle’s been doing good. Really, so good.  
  
She takes another slug of hyperwhisky. Thinks about how good she’s doing as she flips another Rishi coin into the air and blasts a neat little molten hole through the center. (The octagonal, brass-stamped pieces of metal are what passes for local currency on Rishi. Talle ended up with a whole chest of the basically-worthless “treasure” after she and Corso…you know what, that’s a long story and it’s not really important now).

“Commander…?” Theron says again. He’s been saying that for a while now. His voice is getting increasingly higher pitched with each iteration.

“I ain’t gonna miss,” Talle says, finally, and mostly out of exasperation. She burns a bullseye in another coin just to show him, then downs another shot. “You’re here about the blaster fire, right? It’s fine. A few burns on a bulkhead, that’s all.”

Wall. That’s a _wall_ , not a bulkhead. She’s not on a ship, because she doesn’t have a _crew_.  
  
“I…uh,” Theron coughs. “I wasn’t here about that. Actually. I…we have a lead. A contact. I thought you might want to…”  
  
He trails off as Talle finally twitches up the brim of her hat. Makes eye contact. Her voice is perfectly steady, just like her hands. But now she’s letting him see her red-rimmed, watery eyes.  
  
“Are they my people, Theron?” she asks in her perfectly steady voice. “My crew? Any of them?”  
  
He hasn’t been crying. But he’s the first to look away. “I’m still following some leads,” he says softly. “But no. Doctor Oggurobb wants to…”  
  
Talle flips another coin into the air, then slags a neat little red hole in the center of it. “Do I _look_ like I care what Doctor Oggurobb wants right now?” she says carelessly. At the flash of Theron’s dark eyes she feels an inward wince, but she doesn’t let any hint of it show. She’s been doing so good. As long as Theron had Star Fortresses to point her at—things to blow up, life-or-death scrapes to blast her way out of—Talle knew the next step in front of her.  
  
Now she’s facing the very real possibility of a universe without Corso. Without her husband—and more importantly, her first mate. With Corso at her shoulder Talle could see herself the way he did: she was incandescent, she was incomparable, she was the grubby angel of the hyperspace back lanes.  
  
Without him, she’s just a good shot and a fast mouth, and stars know there’s plenty of those in the galaxy. It was just her luck to end up in the right place and wrong time. Some kind of figurehead for a doomed rebellion. That sounds so unlikely it _must_ be true.  
  
“What’s so funny?” Theron says cautiously, and Talle realizes she’s laughing out loud. She tugs the brim of her hat back down so that he won’t see she’s crying again too.  
  
“You people,” she says. “You people are funny. It’s pretty damn hilarious that you pinned your hopes on me.”  
  
“I’ll get Lana,” Theron says, but at that she only laughs louder.  
  
“Okay,” Talle says between chuckles. “Nice knowing you, Theron.”  
  
“What does that mean?” he demands.  
  
Talle swings her boots down off the table, lowers her blaster, and takes another shot of hyperwhisky before risking a slow glance upward. “Are you really under the impression that Lana would keep me alive one minute after she judged me a liability?”  
  
At Theron’s stricken look, she pours another shot and pushes it across her desk, towards him. “Drink or get out of my cabin,” she says. Then corrects herself: “Room.”  
  
“I’m—“ Theron says. “Not really good at this kind of thing.”  
  
“What kind of thing? Drinking?” Talle still has a chuckle in her voice, and if Theron was– _if he was Corso_ –if he was one of her crew then he’d know how much danger he’s in right now.  
  
“Emotions,” Theron says, dryly enough that it doesn’t actually infuriate her.  
  
“Drink,” she says. “Or get out. I don’t care which.”  
  
He sidles inside, gingerly pulls up a chair. She tells herself she’s not relieved. “Haven’t seen you…do this before,” he says carefully. “But it’s probably healthy. In some way.”  
  
“This is healthy in no way, Theron,” Talle says. “Drink.” And she holds out her glass until he clinks it.  
  
“I just mean. You need to grieve.”  
  
“Well, that depends,” she drawls. “Are my people dead?” The blaster is lying on the desk, now, but her fingers twitch towards it. Corso would have caught that.  
  
If Theron caught it, she can’t tell. Maybe he’s not hopeless at this spy stuff after all. “I’m still looking,” he says gently. “I’ve never stopped looking.”  
  
“Theron,” Talle says, “I can’t do this without them. I can’t do it without him.”  
  
Theron turns his glass between his hands. “Do you think,” he says finally. “Do you think he would have given up on _you_?”  
  
“No,” Talle says immediately. “No. Not ever.”  
  
And she only realizes the trap she’s fallen into when Theron gives her the ghost of a smile. “So,” he says. “I’ll keep looking. And you’ll…”  
  
Talle drains her glass. Then she nods. “I’ll go recruit whoever it is Doctor Oggurobb needs now,” she says.   
  
Her voice, like her hands, is perfectly steady.


End file.
